


Nearly Famous

by prefectdraco



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Falling in Reverse, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., The Brobecks
Genre: AU, AU in which the brobecks are worldwide famous and brendon's a huge slut for them, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Band Fic, Fanboy Brendon, Gay Bar, Groupies, Humor, It'll be explicit eventually just to warn you, M/M, Please read this you won't regret it, Swearing, Teen Brendon, Touring, Underage Drinking, alternative universe, and while you're at it comment and leave kudos thank you <3, feed my children, tagging as I go along, water my crops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-07-27 01:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prefectdraco/pseuds/prefectdraco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon Urie is pretty much just like any other teenager, until the day he meets his favorite band of all time, the famous indie pop band, The Brobecks. He would have done anything in the world to meet Dallon Weekes, the lead singer, even if that meant pretending to be a journalist, which would eventually lead him to joining them on tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkened Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something, because I figured out a whole plot in my head and I think it could be amazing. This fic is inspired by the movie Almost Famous, which I love very much.  
> Thanks so much to my wonderful beta reader whom I love very much, [brobecking](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brobecking), also known as Ryan.  
> For those of you who have no idea who The Brobecks are, I did not invent them. It was Dallon Weekes' band before he joined Panic! At The Disco, and most of the references I made are exactly that: references. I did not make them up. I did not invent the name of the album 'Violent Things', and so on. If you have any questions regarding this topic, or anything else, feel free to ask them in the comments or send me a message/ask on [ my tumblr](http://beanbo.tumblr.com/ask)!  
> 

Brendon is shaking. He’s terrified, he’s scared for his life. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but he has a strange feeling in his gut telling him that he shouldn’t have done this. He knocks once, his knuckles still pressed against the cold metal of the backstage door after the knock. He knocks two more times, his jaw clenched, his eyes closed. He’s scared because he’s about to do something horrible. Well, horrible to his standards. Honestly, it’s nothing too big. But Brendon’s scared because he’s never done something like this before. He takes deep breaths, trying to look relaxed.

He’s about to meet his favorite band. Maybe. Possibly. He’s _planning_ on meeting them, at least. The thing was, he was about to pretend to be a journalist from this local newspaper, sent to interview the band. He even brought a fake ID, to inform the security guard that he’s nineteen. He’s actually sixteen. _Almost_ seventeen, though. But he looks older than he actually is.

Okay, maybe this could work out well. He had called the band’s management to ask for an appointment, even, and even if they hung up on him, Brendon still had hope. He _had_ hope, right before he found himself in front of this door, his heart beating so fast in his rib cage that he wouldn’t really be surprised if it burst out of his chest.

Brendon loves The Brobecks. He really loves them, they’re his favorite band. And even having the slight possibility of meeting them meant not being able to be first row at their concert in Las Vegas, he’d try meeting them. It was their first North American tour, too, so he’s just hoping their security isn’t too great _yet_.

Okay, they’re fucking popular. Their first album, _Violent Things_ , hit the top of the charts so quickly. They were nobodies before their album came out in 2009. Then they got a record deal, an American tour announcement, and there they are, hanging out backstage in one of the biggest concert venues of Las Vegas one year and a half after releasing their album.

Brendon’s loved them for more than a year and a half though. Before releasing their first album, they published a couple of songs per year. They started their band in 2007, and that’s exactly when Brendon started listening to them. He was thirteen at the time and he fell in love with their music. (He also fell in love with the singer, Dallon Weekes, but he wasn’t going to mention that.)

Brendon wanted to meet them so badly. That’s when his friend Ryan suggested he found a way to get backstage. So Brendon made up a couple of fake journalist questions he’d ask them, simply because he wants to talk to them. Yeah, it was stupid, but did Brendon care? He did not.

He’d planned everything, but there he is, in an alley next to the venue, regretting everything. _Especially_ when he notices the door opening. Oh god.

Oh god, oh god, oh _god_.

He’s going to die. What if this doesn’t work? What if this _works_? He hasn’t been prepared enough for this, he doesn’t know how he’ll react to meeting _the_ _fucking Brobecks._ He inhales a few times, relaxing and offering a small yet casual smile at the security guy, who didn’t look extremely friendly.

He didn’t really look friendly at all.

Brendon is going to be okay. Yes. Okay, deep breaths.

 _Deep breaths_.

“...Hi,” he finally says, grinning up at the older man, white teeth and dark eyes, trying his hardest not to look scared. The security guy is built, and looks like he could easily hurt Brendon simply by touching him. Especially since Brendon was pretty skinny compared to the guy. He’s internally screaming, knowing he’s probably never been as terrified as he is now in his entire life.

The older man stares down at him, expressionless, without any replies.

Okay, Brendon’s got this.

“I’m Brendon Boyd Urie, I’m here from _Las Vegas Tribune_ , t-to interview The Brobecks,” he says, standing up straight and looking at the tall, muscular security guy in the eyes.

The guard pauses, narrows his eyes at Brendon before walking off, grabbing a notepad and coming back in silence, reading a list. “You ain’t on the list, kid.”

Brendon smiles, trying to keep his cool on the outside. He shrugs. “Sir, I’m a journalist. I was sent by the _Las Vegas Tribune._ Maybe if you check again-”

“I said ya’ ain’t on the list. Nice try, though,” the man says, grabbing the handle of the door to close it in Brendon’s face, but Brendon puts a hand on the door, barely able to hold it open.

“I’ve been sent, sir. My job is to come here and interview the band, I think you must be mistaken,” Brendon says, and he’s panicking but he’s trying his hardest to look calm.

“I’m not mistaken. Get back in line with the other fangirls,” the security man says, before forcing the door shut, slamming it and locking it.

Brendon’s left with the metallic door in front of him, a couple of inches away from his nose, feeling his stomach ache. He swallows thickly. Okay, maybe this was a stupid idea. He turns around, on the verge of tears. He feels like a fucking _idiot_ because realistically, how could this have worked? He clenches his fists and takes a few breaths, trying to fight back the tears rushing up to his eyes.

He walks up the alley quietly, hands in his pockets. He feels like shit and it hits him how much of a _bad idea_ this was. He shouldn’t have done this, even if it would have worked out he would have felt bad for lying to his favorite band. It was the only way he could meet them, though, they were too popular. It didn’t even work.

Well. At least he was about to see them in concert, but this wasn’t what he had planned. He sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head to himself. When he opens his eyes, he sees that someone had turned into the alley. He blinks, because he’s _shocked_. He’s honestly terrified, his whole body turning numb. He has a feeling as if he’s about to faint, his stomach flipping. Excitement, fear, joy, fright, or everything at once.

He stops walking, staring at the slender figure walking toward him.

 _Oh my god_.

Dallon fucking Weekes, singer, bassist and songwriter of the Brobecks. Also known as Brendon’s favorite person of all time.

Brendon’s eyes widen and it’s like he forgot to function, really. While he’s internally screaming, Dallon keeps walking closer and closer to him.

How is he supposed to stay calm? This is the man whose voice Brendon listens to as he falls asleep at night?. He _loves_ this man, he admires him and every single thing about him, and he has prepared for everything regarding his meeting with the Brobecks, except for… well, _actually staying calm while meeting them._

He’s shaking, his heart beating at an incredible speed as he raises his eyebrows. He’s looking pretty relaxed on the outside. Dallon keeps walking towards him, quite indifferently. He figures the guy is an employee or something, especially since he’s not freaking out at the sight of Dallon in front of him.

As for Brendon, he’s absolutely speechless. He opens his mouth as Dallon walks past him and he turns to him. He needs to cool down. He breathes in before speaking.

“Good evening, I’m Brendon Urie from _Las Vegas Tribune_ , you must be Dallon Weekes? I’m here to interview you and your band.”

He has _no fucking clue_ how he managed to get that out without freaking out, but he did. He’s completely proud of himself, because he doesn’t want to look unprofessional in front of Dallon. Dallon needs to think he’s chill, Dallon needs to think he’s a journalist, not a fanboy _._ Even though he’s a _total fanboy,_ let’s be real.

Dallon turns to Brendon, looking as if he had barely noticed him until now, and looks at him nonchalantly. He doesn’t look all that busy, but he sighs and rolls his eyes then. “Good evening,” Dallon starts, with a rather sweet voice. “Um, _sorry_ , could you please _piss off_? I’m not wasting my time with fuckin’ critics, really. I’m doing all of this for the fans, not goddamn newspapers and journalists. Besides, I don’t think I ever allowed Pete to let interviewers in today. Last time we got an interview from your newspaper they said I was a shitty, self-absorbed singer and that our sound was crap.”

Brendon wanted to fucking cry. He didn’t plan for _this_. Dallon was supposed to be… he was supposed to be _Dallon Weekes_ , this perfect guy. His favorite bassist, his favorite singer, his favorite songwriter, his favorite person of all time. How could he be such an _asshole_?

This feels like the worst day ever. He doesn’t know if he wants to go see them in concert or not anymore, really. He can’t give up now, though, so he tries to stay calm. “That isn’t possible, since _Las Vegas Tribune_ has never interviewed The Brobecks until now,” he tells Dallon, and that, he’s _sure_ is true.

Dallon shrugs, rolling his eyes again. “Sure, whatever, the point still stands, I’m not accepting interviews from shitty newspapers whose job is to make us look bad. We’ve got a reputation to keep up with. Just piss off already!”

Brendon’s got this. He’ll freak out and whine about this all he wants to Ryan later on, but for now he needs to keep his cool. He drops his bag onto the floor and leans against the wall, looking at Dallon with a relaxed attitude. “You’re Dallon James Weekes. You’re twenty-three years old, you’re the Brobecks’ _amazing_ singer, bassist and songwriter. I love the Brobecks, really. I think the songs ‘ _Goodnight Socialite_ ’ and _‘Small Cuts_ ’ were fucking _brilliant_. Your vocals are extraordinary. Your lyrics all the same. _Violent Things_ is by far my favorite album of all time. I’m sorry if you’ve got a bad experience with the medias, but I’m in no way trying to dig up dirt on the Brobecks. But yeah, I’ll piss off now, sorry to have bothered you.”

He begins walking away from the legendary indie rock god, all while trying to look calm. Oh, _boy_. Brendon doesn’t know how _that_ managed to come out of his mouth, especially while talking to someone as impressive as Dallon Weekes.

Dallon’s facial expression immediately changes, and he grins widely down at Brendon - even if Brendon can’t exactly see him - his eyebrows raised. “Well, don’t stop on my account. I didn’t realize I was talking to a fan. Come on, come back here, I changed my mind. I’d like to take that interview.”

Brendon stops walking then, pausing for a second. _What the hell_. He doesn’t know how much longer he can last before he passes out. He ends up turning back to face Dallon, an arched eyebrow, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Really? Awesome,” he says with a small smile, grabbing his bag, which he was about to forget if he had actually walked off. He doesn’t exactly know how this can be really happening to him, Brendon Boyd Urie, ultimate fanboy and Brobecks fan.

Dallon offers Brendon a wide smile, showing off his perfect teeth, making Brendon’s insides melt. Dallon turns away, expecting Brendon to follow him as he walks back to the metallic door Brendon had spent at least a good ten minutes staring before meeting the very sympathetic security guard. Brendon immediately follows behind Dallon, taking a few frantic breaths while Dallon couldn’t see him. Dallon takes a key from his back pocket and opens the door, motioning for Brendon to follow him as he walks in past the guard.

Brendon walks in as well, grinning arrogantly at the guard as he walks past him.

“The kid’s with me, all’s good, Brent,” he says to the guard.

Brendon’s grinning to himself as he walks into the backstage area – he’s never done something similar to this before in his life. Yeah, he’s lying about being a journalist, but at least he doesn’t have to lie about loving the band. Dallon seems to like him, too, so things are shaping up to be pretty awesome for him.


	2. Violent Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Again, thanks a lot to my wonderful beta Ryan, you can find his ao3 [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brobecking) and tumblr [here](http://brobecking.tumblr.com/). Thanks for pressuring (but also motivating) me to post this, Ryan! Means a lot.  
> Also, I want to add that since the Brobecks aren't a very popular band, there's not much information on them. I might have some details wrong, like the band's lineup, which I think was Ryan Seaman (yes, the guy from Falling In Reverse, he was in The Brobecks before!), Dallon Weekes, Josh Rheault and Connor Doyle at some point. If there's anything wrong, feel free to tell me in the comments or on my [tumblr](http://beanbo.tumblr.com/). If you know anything about The Brobecks, I'd _love_ to hear about it, because I'm desperate for any kind of information.  
>  If you have any questions, suggestions, ideas, etc. for the fanfiction, you can message me too.  
> That's pretty much it! Please, please give this kudos and comment, it means a lot. Brallon will happen soon, I promise.

Brendon can’t stop staring at Dallon. It’s very surreal to him, meeting this music legend, but also _actually_ meeting him, not simply stopping by him, with an excited, “Oh my god, I _love_ your music, you’re awesome!”, a hug, a photograph and a goodbye, but actually _meeting_ him and _talking_ to him.

Dallon is talking to the rest of the band as Brendon gets out his notepad from his backpack, along with a pen and a voice recorder. He had already written down questions to ask them. Since he’s not a journalist, it took him a while to think out those questions, but he’s pretty sure these are close enough to the real thing. He turns the notepad’s pages until he’s at the page with the questions and clears his throat awkwardly. “Um, sorry, but–,” he starts, interrupting Dallon as he is talking to The Brobecks’ drummer, Ryan Seaman. Dallon immediately turns to Brendon, with an annoyed expression on his face and Brendon blushes darkly.

“Uh, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother, I’ll just - I can wait,” he nods in embarrassment, raising his eyebrows and clearing his throat again.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Dallon says, shrugging it off. “I’m just talking to my good friend Ryan over here,” he says, grinning and wrapping a hand around Ryan’s shoulders playfully and Brendon’s trying his best to look as calm as possible. “Care to join us?” he asks him, nodding towards his notepad and voice recorder. “Put that away, we can do that later. We have _plenty_ of time.” Dallon leans back in the dressing room’s couch, stretching his legs, and Brendon can’t help but notice how _long_ they were _._ Like, seriously.

“Oh, oh, okay, yes, sure,” he nods slowly, blinking in disbelief. How the _hell_ is he, Brendon Boyd Urie, _backstage_ with The _fucking_ Brobecks, the lead singer literally _insisting that he speaks with them_? Wasn’t he just another journalist? It made his heart skip a beat, most likely out of excitement and fear. He nods again before putting the notepad and recorder back in his backpack, looking up at Dallon.

“I never caught your name, by the way,” Dallon says, raising his eyebrows at him and it looked as though he was genuinely curious about him.

“Yeah, what _is_ your name?” adds Ryan, smiling slightly at the boy.

“Brendon, I’m, uh, I’m Brendon,” he replies suddenly, his voice cracking halfway through his sentence and he cringes at himself because of that. Dallon doesn’t seem to notice though and Brendon’s grateful for that.

“Brendon,” Dallon repeats, his voice soft and sweet. Brendon feels comfort in the sound of his voice. “Nice name. How’s it spelled? There’s too many different versions of that name, honestly.”

“An E and an O,” he answers, and Dallon nods, saying something, but Brendon loses track of the conversation. Dallon ends up looking at Ryan, meaning Brendon can look at Dallon freely, without looking like a total creep. He stares – _observes_ – notices every detail of Dallon’s face: his dimples when he smiles, his eyes – he bluest eyes of them all, the most beautiful eyes.

Dallon was truly gorgeous. Sure, maybe he was somewhat of an asshole in real life, but… but, oh well. Not everyone can live up to perfect expectations. Brendon should have known that Dallon wasn’t the way he had pictured him to be. However, he _was_ prettier in real life.

In real life, Brendon could notice every single detail on his face and the way he bounces his leg when he talks.

Brendon doesn’t think he could ever get sick of looking at him, which is why he’s looking at him this intensely; he wants to remember every single aspect of his appearance and personality before he has to go back home. He’s smiling widely, caught up in his daydream, until he hears someone talking towards him, and he blinks, looking up at Ryan and Dallon, who were both staring at him and chuckling. Brendon feels his cheeks turn an even darker shade of red now, ashamed to have been caught staring.

***

Brendon can freely stare at Dallon, now. He has a proper excuse: they’re performing, he’s _meant_ to look at them. Well, he’s meant to look at all of the band but in reality, the only person he’s looking at is Dallon. As usual. He was supposed to interview the band, then leave right after to attend the concert with the other fans, because he wouldn’t want to miss this for the world **.** However, Dallon offered him to let him stay and watch the concert from the wing of the stage. Brendon couldn’t refuse that offer – or anything Dallon would ever offer, really. He wouldn’t have refused to fuck off – if that’s what Dallon would have asked him to do.

It was such an honor to see his favorite band perform live, especially in this situation. He can feel his heart pounding sporadically in his chest as he watches Dallon sing into the microphone placed in the middle of the stage, as he hears the thousands of fans screaming and cheering, as he watches Ryan beating the shit out of his drums, as he watches Connor and the intensity he puts into playing his guitar. He’s in love with the band, really, and even though it’s pretty basic to love the lead singer the most, he _adores_ Dallon. He loves him with all of his heart.

He has already completely forgot about all the heartbreak he felt when he and Dallon met and he realized how much of an asshole his favorite singer actually was. Well, he was an asshole with the _press_. Maybe his idea of pretending to be a journalist wasn’t so great after all. He should have just found a way to get in backstage as a fan.

Who was he kidding, that would have never worked. The fact that he had a _reason_ to be there made Dallon decide to invite him backstage with them, but if he had just been another nameless fan? Brendon doubts that he would have invited him in. Which means that, as heartbreaking as it had been to see Dallon’s reaction to meeting him, faking to be a journalist hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

He feels a presence next to him, shaking him out of his obvious daydream and he turns around to look at the person.

The guy standing next to him looks roughly his age, if not younger. He looks as if he had spent a few months without getting a proper haircut, because his hair is long, shoulder length and it doesn’t look extremely neat or well cut. The boy is pretty adorable though, he is a little chubby and he has got a baby face, as if he hasn’t hit puberty yet.  

They make eye contact after a couple of seconds. The other guy smiles kindly and it’s contagious, because Brendon can’t help but return the smile.

“Hey, I’m Spencer,” he practically yells over the sound of the music, holding out a hand for Brendon to shake. “What’s your name?” Brendon is a bit pissed to be disturbed during the best  live performance he will ever witness in his entire life, but after a brief moment of hesitation, he finally reaches for the other’s hand and shakes it before letting go. “My name’s Brendon,” he shouts, leaning in close to Spencer’s ear to help him understand what he is trying to say.

“Brendon,” he repeats, a little quieter than Brendon, but still loud enough for him to hear him through the screams and the music. “Nice to meet you,” he says, grinning at Brendon. “I’m friends with the band, I've been hanging out with them ever since the tour began,” he explains and Brendon can tell this guy is very friendly, judging by the amount of smiling he’s doing.

They weren’t arrogant or “I’m better than you” smiles, though, they were sympathetic smiles. Spencer’s obviously attempting to be sociable and Brendon can already conclude that he likes the guy.

Brendon raises his eyebrows and nods. “Wow, that's fucking awesome. I've only been here for like, four hours. I'm a - uh - I'm a journalist. I was here to interview the band, they haven't accepted to get interviewed yet though. I suppose they'll do it after,” he says, shrugging slightly.

Spencer laughs at that, instantly shaking his head. “No chance for that, seriously! They're leaving almost immediately after this show. I don't think you'll get your interview, but good luck with that,” he says to Brendon, leaning forward, close to his ear as he speaks. He then pats Brendon’s back briefly, and within a few moments, he disappears, leaving Brendon alone, feeling a little confused.

If Dallon didn’t want the interview, why did he keep him here? The song the band was playing ends, and Dallon turns to look at Brendon from the stage, subtly waving and grinning at him. Brendon blushes, but waves back, awkwardly. He has no idea what the hell is going on, and how the _fuck_ did he get this lucky, but he isn’t exactly complaining either. This is the greatest time he’s had in his life.

The concert ends after a couple of minutes, the band obviously giving their best on stage, their performance being amazing. Brendon is left in complete awe as the band waves at the fans and walks off the stage, back to where Brendon had been standing.

He knows he could watch it over and over again without getting sick of it, which was why he was wondering why Spencer hadn’t been in the wing with him all through the show, even if he had the opportunity of seeing them perform everyday. Did he get bored of it, or was he just busy? Either way, Brendon was kind of jealous, because in Spencer’s place, he would never want to miss any of their wonderful performances.

Dallon pats Brendon’s shoulder as he walks past him, grabbing a water bottle, placing his bass on the table, then sitting down on the couch tiredly and removing his earpiece.

“Dibs on the shower!” Ryan says immediately, kicking Dallon’s leg playfully before walking away, most likely to the shower.

The rest of the band groans, all of them except Dallon heading to their dressing rooms, even if Dallon seems to be the one who needs to change his clothes the most - his clothes are soaked with sweat.  He figures Dallon is waiting for the shower, though, and Brendon doesn’t really know where to look nor what to do now that the show has ended. He walks towards Dallon, uncertain and afraid he was going to reject him as he sat next to him, keeping a safe distance to make sure Dallon wouldn’t freak out or anything.

Even soaking with sweat, Dallon smells great. He smells delicious, actually, and Brendon kind of feels bad for obsessing this much over him.

Dallon turns to Brendon almost instantly, exhausted and breathless, with a small smile on his lips. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, you were amazing, really. All of you, you were spectacular.  I was impressed, your studio songs are really good, but I mean, your live music sounds even better, if that’s even possible. You really impressed me, y’know, and I don’t say this about every band that I interview,” _Bullshit_. What a liar. “But your voice was incredible from the beginning until the end and the _energy_ you have, it’s fucking wonderful. I’ll definitely go back to see you guys in concert, if you come back here, seriously, like... _wow_. I’m sorry, but _fuck_ , I’m so _fucking_ impressed, you’re such a great singer and a great bassist, like, I’ve seen a lot of bands. I’ve - I’ve also _met_ a lot of bands, of course, but you guys are just – you’re something else,” he rambles on, this time not even able to hide his excitement and his love and admiration for the band and for Dallon himself.

Dallon looks pleased, he’s definitely not creeped out by Brendon’s worshipping of the band, if anything he seems flattered. He smiles, nodding. “Thank you,” he says, looking at Brendon for a few moments, running a hand through his wet hair. “Wow…I’m glad you enjoyed it, I’m flattered. I wasn’t at my best, though, I could have been better. Just… y’know, I’ve got a sore throat at the moment.”

Brendon nods, trying his best to concentrate on his words, but he doesn’t really listen since he’s too busy getting lost in Dallon’s eyes. He nods some more, until he entirely forgets what Dallon had said. He swallows thickly, pausing for a few instants before opening his mouth to speak, realizing how awkward that silence must have been for Dallon. “Yeah, yeah…You know, uh, I met your friend Spencer during the show. He told me that you guys wouldn’t have time to get interviewed before you left, that I came here for nothing. I didn’t, obviously, but…but, uh, am I still going to get that interview?” Brendon doesn’t know if he is insisting because he wants to be credible, or if he truly wants to interview them this badly. Anyway, he has to insist if he wants Dallon to believe that he is an actual journalist and besides, he’s genuinely curious about it.

“Nope,” Dallon shrugs simply, leaning back in the couch and crossing his legs.

Brendon blinks at Dallon’s reply, taking a few seconds to process that reply, confused and scared. “‘Nope’? What do you mean? I need that interview - f-for the _Las Vegas Tribune_ , I can’t back away now.”

“I said ‘no’,” Dallon repeats quietly. His tone isn’t rude or angry; in all honesty it’s quite soft and calm.

“W-what do you mean ‘no’? I have a paper to write–,” he starts, before he gets interrupted by Dallon.

“I mean that exactly, ‘no,’ at least, not right now. I have a suggestion for you instead,” Dallon says, beaming and crossing his arms.

Brendon can’t be more confused now, but he simply nods, curious to know what Dallon’s offer is. “Okay, what’s your suggestion?”

“ _Brendon_ ,” he starts with a sigh, pausing and sitting up straight, looking at him with a small smirk decorating the corner of his lips. “There’s a bunk bed available in our tour bus. Would you be interested in joining us for the tour? I mean, it doesn’t have to be all of it, either. Could be two or three days. It’s a free offer, too,” he grins, clasping his hands together. “What do you say?”

Brendon is petrified. At first, he asks himself if he heard Dallon correctly. Once he realizes he has, he tries to process what Dallon asked him exactly. Dallon wants him to join them for their tour? Brendon doesn't understand why. Maybe it's a joke and he doesn't get it. He's probably supposed to laugh now. His eyes widen the slightest once he realizes that Dallon was _serious_ , that he wanted him to follow them.

“Uh, yeah, I mean, sure, why not?”

Brendon doesn’t have any idea why the fuck he said that. He regrets it immediately afterwards, wanting to slap himself five times. It was as though his mouth had reacted to Dallon’s question before his brain had had the time to think it through and analyze it. He _wanted_ to say yes, but could he? _No_ , he had a whole life in Summerlin, friends and family and he couldn’t just storm off like that, but _holy shit_ it was The Brobecks, and what harm could it do to stay with them for a few days?

He’d have time to think this through later, but how exactly could he refuse Dallon’s offer? It’s not everyday you get asked by a successful rock band to join them on tour, especially when you’re just another teenager like Brendon. He doesn’t understand why Dallon wants him to join them on tour or if he was even serious, but his brain doesn’t have the capacity to over think those things, because he’s just so excited at the moment. Brendon tries his best to act cool, but on the inside he’s actually freaking the fuck out.

Dallon grins hugely at Brendon’s response, obviously pleased that Brendon accepted. Brendon just wonders why he even cares about him, but he doesn’t question it aloud.

“Awesome. We’d need someone like you around, y’know, it gets boring with the same people after a while,” Dallon pauses when Brendon doesn’t reply and he adds, “Well, not that I’m using you as entertainment or anything. Just, you know, I think you’d be nice to have around. Besides, we don’t have time for that interview, if you join us on tour, we’ll get that interview at some point, yeah?” he smirks playfully, pushing Brendon’s shoulder.

“Y-yeah, sounds great, really,” he says, using his most casual-sounding voice, nodding slowly. “Uh, I didn’t pack, though,” he raises his eyebrows at Dallon, picking at the skin on the corner of his thumb’s nail nervously.

“You really didn’t? Come on, you should have known you were coming on tour with us!” Dallon jokes, laughing softly and taking a large sip from his water bottle. “It’s no problem. We’ve got _tons_ of clothes. Too many clothes, really. None of mine would fit you, no offense, but you’re so small…well, you’d look cute in them, though,” he says and Brendon laughs nervously. Must be another one of his jokes. He couldn’t have _meant_ that, oh my god. And yet, he doesn’t look like he’s joking. “We’ll have some clothes that’ll fit you, I’m sure. Or we’ll buy you new ones,” he adds, looking down at Brendon’s current clothes. Brendon can’t possibly be more flushed than he currently is, since his clothes were pretty shitty. He doesn’t come from a rich family or anything, so he doesn’t go shopping for new clothes very often. All of his pairs of jeans were ripped, the writing on his Brobecks shirt faded, his Converses being the same he had worn for the past 3 years. In other words, his wardrobe was pretty much empty and Dallon could most likely see that, which embarrassed Brendon a bit.

Oh, fuck Dallon, who cares if he doesn’t like what Brendon wears? Dallon is in no position to be judgemental - he’s got money, looks, and he’s older than Brendon. Brendon has little to no fashion sense, no stylist, no money and in his opinion, he’s not that great-looking either. Regardless of his attempt at ignoring Dallon’s judgment, his whole face is still red. He shrugs. “M’kay,” he mumbles, only then realizing how rude that sounded. “I mean – thank you.”

There’s a small pause between the both of them, but they’re looking at each other. It’s not really awkward, because both of them seem to be lost in their thoughts, Brendon just staring into Dallon’s gorgeous blue eyes. Once Brendon gets ahold of himself and calms down enough to break the silence, he clears his throat. “Um, there’s only one problem, see, I wear a retainer at night, it’s fluorescent and everything, it’s pretty cool but, well it’s back home. I think my orthodontist would kill me if I skipped one night, you see,” he licks his lips. “So, I’d like to go with you guys, but what am I going to do about my–”

At that moment, Ryan walks back to the room in which Brendon and Dallon were speaking, interrupting Brendon. “Shower’s available! Dallon, go first, you smell,” he jokes, grabbing a water bottle and heading to his dressing room. “I still think it’s fucking ridiculous how we’re this famous, and we gotta share the damn bathroom. Next tour, I’m not accepting this bullshit,” he rolls his eyes, then closes the door behind him.

Dallon stands up, winking at Brendon, subtle enough for Brendon to ask himself if he had imagined it, but not subtle enough for Brendon to have missed it. “That’s my cue. See you,” he says, walking off towards the bathroom, leaving Brendon alone with his thoughts.

Once Brendon is sure he’s entirely alone, apart from the crew who were cleaning up and picking everything up to put in the bus, probably, he exhales deeply, closing his eyes and burying his face in his hands. He was really, _deeply_ screwed. He wonders what the hell he’s going to do, now that he has agreed to join The Brobecks on tour. His parents were going to kill him. His best friend Ryan would cry, most likely. He knows that Ryan wouldn’t stop crying, but the moment he’d see him again, he’d slap him. Brendon smiles a little at the thought of his best friend, but then shakes his head. Was he willing to abandon him for his favorite band? Sadly, yes. But it wasn’t as if he was abandoning him forever, it would just be a couple of days, like Dallon said.

Besides, he knows that Ryan would be happy for him if he knew. He couldn’t risk calling him though, because Ryan might tell his parents and he definitely did not want that.

He doesn’t want to think about people back home, because he’s great where he is. He wants this, he has always dreamt of this, and now it has become a reality, he knows he has to cherish it instead of worrying about stupid things like people wondering where he was. He sits up, taking a few deep breaths and chuckling to himself.

Oh my god, this was actually happening.


	3. You're The Only Thing That's Going On In My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been procrastinating this for the past two weeks and more. I'm sorry, for anyone who actually care. But here it is! It's not great, I know, and I lacked of inspiration for this chapter and it's a little hard to kick things off at first, especially since I don't want to rush things and make it seem unrealistic. Anyway, here it is, and if there's anything you need to say, don't hesitate to write it in the comments, I'll try my best to reply to everyone's questions and such! Again, my tumblr is [beanbo](http://beanbo.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk to me, ask me a question, follow me, etc.  
> Apart from that, enjoy!

Sleeping in a bunk bed in a tour bus is harder than Brendon had imagined. He rarely travels, so he doesn’t often get out of his comfort zone and sleep in shitty bunk beds, so this is pretty much a first for him. He can’t sleep. Maybe it’s because of the sounds of the engine, maybe it’s because of the lack of comfort of his bed. Or, maybe it’s because he’s extremely nervous and afraid of what was next for him.

He’s shivering now, gripping the edge of the most uncomfortable pillow he has ever slept on in his life. He regrets agreeing to join The Brobecks on tour; he doesn’t even know them personally. Well, yes, _technically_ , he knows them, but not as much as he knows Ryan. _His_ Ryan, not Ryan Seaman. He’s already so far from home, so far from Ryan and from Joe. Honestly, the worst part was being away from Ryan, since Joe is kind of an asshole to him. They just hang out seeing as they’ve always hung out. They spend time together out of habit

He misses Ryan already, he misses his home and his bed. He would never admit this to Dallon or the rest of the band, though, since he doesn’t want to look like a pussy in front of his idols. He wishes he could call Ryan, but he knows that Ryan would be too worried to let Brendon enjoy himself. He couldn’t trust Ryan to keep the secret, so he couldn’t even explain to Ryan where he was. Maybe everyone was already worrying. He looked down at his cheap plastic watch. _Three in the morning_.

He tries not to picture his mother crying over him, worried about where he was. She didn’t deserve this- neither did his dad - but Brendon was too selfish to change his mind, and besides, to him, there was no turning back from this. If his good little Mormon parents were aware of all of this, they probably would never let him leave his bedroom.

He wishes Ryan would have come to the concert with him, that way they could have met the band together, and he wouldn’t be entirely alone, on the verge of tears, holding onto a fucking pillow since there was no one else with him he could hold onto.

Okay, now he is officially crying. He tries to stay silent, burying his face in the pillow and trying his best to stop the tears from falling. He feels like a fucking idiot, because accepting to join the band on tour was a _bad idea_ , but if he had refused, he would have regretted it forever. Why the hell is he crying?  This should be the happiest moment of his life, but he’s sobbing into a pillow.

Despite how hard he tries to breathe deeply and steadily, he just ends up hyperventilating. After a few minutes, he gets sick of trying to calm down and he feels a little nauseous due to the movement of the bus and the fact that he was lying down, so he decides to get out of his bunk bed. Ironically enough, the bus stops as he gets up and he stays still, holding onto the edge of the upper bunk as he watched the bus driver stroll from his seat to the exit, probably going for a smoke or something. He wipes the tears from his wet cheeks, silently praying no one else is awake as he walks to the bathroom.

He sighs deeply, his eyes half-opened as he gets into the small bathroom, leaving the door open. He looks at his blurry reflection in the mirror, unable to see much since he isn’t wearing his glasses and it’s dark. From what he _can_ see as he approaches the mirror though, he looks like a complete mess. His eyes seem red and puffy, eyelashes wet, slightly dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled.

He sniffs softly before turning on the faucet, splashing water on his face as he rubbed it. When he looks at his reflection again, he still looks like shit and it’s _still_ obvious he’s been crying. He rubs his eyes while he turns away from the mirror, sick of looking at his disgusting face and gets out of the bathroom, bumping into someone soft and squishy on his way out. He jumps and lets out a small, surprised, almost inaudible noise, looking up at the person in front of him. Oh, it’s Spencer.

“Hey…” Spencer frowns down at Brendon, noticing his puffy eyes and facial expression. “Brendon. What’s wrong?”

Brendon feels his cheeks heat up and he shook his head. “I’m fine, I just, I...I had a bad dream, that’s all it was,” he replies, almost in a whisper, avoiding eye contact with Spencer as he attempts to walk past Spencer.

Spencer blocks him though, still staring at him and trying to figure out what happened. “You - you’re crying… you can talk about it to me. I won’t be an asshole, I promise. C’mon,” he gently takes Brendon’s arm and motions him to the couch in the lounge. No one else but them were awake at the moment, thankfully. At least Spencer is the only one who gets to see him in such a shitty state. He ends up giving in and nodding, too tired to argue. He walks to the lounge and sits down with Spencer on one of the couches, crossing his arms over his chest.

They sit there in silence for a few seconds – or a few minutes, Brendon isn’t really sure. Spencer obviously doesn’t want to push him too much, so he waits patiently for him to finally say something.

“It’s just - I’m scared.”

How is he supposed to confess to Spencer when he’s been lying to him ever since he met him and the band? He can’t say he’s really sixteen, so even if he’s talking about his feelings to Spencer, he can’t tell him about how bad he feels for lying to them. He just can’t do that.

“Why are you scared?”

Fuck, Spencer sounds like his goddamn therapist, which makes him force himself not to roll his eyes. “Just… I’m scared about this. I’m - I’m nineteen.” _Liar_. “I’m just nineteen, my parents are gonna wonder where I went and all. I’m scared because...because I’m starting to regret doing this.”

“Brendon,” Spencer whispers soothingly, putting a hand on Brendon’s arm gently and shaking his head. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared, and...honestly, this is supposed to be fun, so if you’re not enjoying yourself, maybe you should go home, you know? I remember the first night I spent on tour with these guys. It was scary, but I’m here since it’s better here than back home. I think Ryan just kind of...took pity on me. I told him how I had just been kicked out of my parents’ house. How much of an asshole my dad was, everything.” Brendon notices how Spencer is shaking, clearly not used to telling anyone what happened. “I didn’t mean to make him take pity on me, it just happened. He offered if I wanted to hang out with them for a few days, I agreed. I’m not a hardcore fan. I’m here because they’re great guys and where else can I go? I have no home, no friends, no family. Nowhere to go. Fuck, I haven’t even figured out what I’ll do after this tour. But I try not to think about that. I live day by day, like there’s no tomorrow. You should, too, if you wanna do this. Whatever’s back home, if you don’t think it’s worth going back to, then stay, don’t think about home.”

Brendon listens as Spencer explains everything and it breaks his heart a little. Spencer seems like such an amazing guy from what he’s seen of him since they met, so he doesn’t understand why his parents would kick him out, but he doesn’t ask. He couldn’t. Spencer probably doesn’t want to speak about it. Once Spencer is done talking, Brendon looks up at him. He doesn’t really know what to say, so he nods. “You’re right… I’m staying. I can’t go home, this is - this is much better. I’m glad you’re here, too. Ryan might have taken pity on you, sure, but he had the power to give you a place to stay and people to talk to, if he wouldn’t have invited you with them, you’d be on the street or something like that. And I’m happy he invited you, because if he hadn’t, we wouldn’t have met, and you just made me feel a lot better. Thank you.”

Spencer’s eyes light up at Brendon’s words and he smiles softly, patting Brendon’s shoulder kindly. “Thanks,” he nodded. “I was supposed to make you feel better, not the opposite,” he chuckles playfully, then chewing on his lip. “But thank you. I’m glad I could help, too. You’re a nice kid, too.”

“ _Kid_? Aren’t you, like, younger than me or something?” Brendon raises his eyebrows in surprise, looking up at Spencer.

Spencer laughs, shaking his head immediately. “I’m seventeen, but hey, I call everyone kid,” he grins, wrapping a hand around Brendon’s shoulders. “So, do you wanna go back to sleep, or would you like to hang out here a little longer? I know where the band keeps their alcohol,” he smirks, standing up immediately.

“I think I should go back to sleep, but, uh, thank you for the offer,” he nods, standing up as well, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you in the morning, Spence.” The nickname just came naturally. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, kid,” he smiles knowingly, obviously teasing Brendon before walking towards a drawer in the corner of the lounge and Brendon figures it’s probably where the band keeps the alcohol. He chuckles and goes back into his bunk, the nauseous feeling he had before completely gone now, the only thing he felt was exhaustion and a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that had been caused by Spencer for some reason. He has no idea why he feels so strongly about Spencer even though they didn’t know each other very much, but there was something about Spencer. Brendon likes Spencer a lot, having a strange feeling that they were meant to be friends, that they were maybe kind of like soulmates. He could see Spencer as his best friend, and he now wonders how he exactly could he have spent his whole life without Spencer in it now that they know each other. He figures Spencer most likely doesn’t feel the same, but it’s okay. It’s kind of stupid, anyway, but he just rarely meets anyone quite like Spencer.

He closes his eyes, breathing steadily now, hands crossed over his chest as he drifts off to sleep, deciding to live day by day, like there’s no tomorrow, just like Spencer told him to. Instead of worrying about what was next for him, he thinks about how great he’s feeling now that Spencer has calmed him down, and about how great of a human being Spencer is. He loves The Brobecks, but if it wasn’t for Spencer, he doesn’t think he would stay here. Spencer gives him a reason to stay.

When the sun rises, Brendon begins to hear more sound coming from the lounge, which wakes him up for good. He quickly notices how his neck is aching and he groans softly as he sits up and stretches. He feels like shit, mostly since he couldn’t sleep at all, since the bunk bed is the shittiest bed ever.

He goes into the lounge as he rubs at his eyelids, noticing how the bus had stopped. They’re probably arrived at their next stop: San Francisco.

Brendon knows some of the tour dates, since he had looked them up a few times beforehand. He is also aware that the stop after this one is Los Angeles. They’re mostly doing shows in the big cities all over North America on this tour, but they’re not even in the middle of the tour. Besides, knowing The Brobecks, they’ll most likely announce another tour as soon as their done with this one.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Brendon is startled by a voice he recognizes so well. Dallon Weekes’ voice. It was like he _knew_ he was on tour with the band, but he hadn’t fully processed it until now, when he finally hears Dallon’s voice. Dallon talking to _him_. He opens his eyes, seeing him, his heart aching. _Fuck_ , does he love this man.

Dallon is grinning, a few strands of messy dark hair falling on his face, over his eyes. He doesn’t look like he had any trouble sleeping at all, in contrary to Brendon. It turns out that Dallon’s smiles are almost as contagious as Spencer’s, because Brendon smiles at that, rolling his eyes and walking past Dallon.

“Good morning,” Brendon replies still, turning back to Dallon before sitting down at the table by the window, looking out. He doesn’t know what he expected. Maybe the Pacific Ocean, the Golden Gate, but all there is is a huge venue and a bunch of other buses, trucks and vans in the parking lot.

He wonders if they’ll have time to visit the city a little before the band gets ready for the show. He smiles a little at the thought of visiting San Francisco with his favorite band, because he’s never been before. He hasn’t traveled much outside of Nevada or Utah, either.

Dallon comes to sit in front of him, at the other side of the table, offering him a bowl of cereals which were coincidentally his favorite kind, too. “Want the rest of my bowl? I’m not hungry anymore.”

Brendon nods, sliding the bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in front of himself. “Thanks, yeah,” he agrees, beginning to eat the cereal, his mind drifting off to how hard it must be to eat cereal while the bus is moving. He’s looking down at his bowl while he’s thinking about pointless things like that, which is why he’s surprised when he looks up, realizing Dallon had been staring at him all this time.

“You have freckles,” Dallon simply states, eyes still fixed at the other’s cheeks.

Brendon’s cheeks turn bright red, camouflaging the few freckles he does have. He shrugs, swallowing the cereal in his mouth. “I-I do, I suppose–?”

“They’re pretty,” Dallon doesn’t even wait until Brendon’s finished talking to say this, he just says it. Was this a joke? Brendon isn’t really good at analyzing people and guessing what was a joke and what wasn’t.

Since he doesn’t know, he assumes it isn’t, he _hopes_ it isn’t. “T-Thank you,” he says with a quiet chuckle, avoiding Dallon’s stare.  He feels like an idiot, such a huge idiot, he’s _so stupid_. Dallon’s complimenting him, and he’s just a stuttering mess. He drinks some milk from his spoon, almost spilling some on his shirt, eyes shifting back to Dallon.

“I know the beds are shit, but did you at least manage to get a bit of sleep?” Dallon asks after a few silent moments. “I should have warned you about them before, I know, but I was afraid it would scare you off,” he admits, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m sorry. At least tomorrow’s hotel night and trust me, the hotels Pete picks are always _fucking amazing_.”

Brendon raises his eyebrows at that. Dallon seemed like such an asshole at first, but wow. He’s starting to realize how adorable he actually is. “You don’t have to be sorry. They aren’t that comfortable sure, but it’s fine. I got some sleep.” He stays quiet after that, finishing his breakfast quickly and getting dressed. Spencer winks at him once he enters the small lounge, Brendon grinning back at his new best friend.

The day doesn’t end up being the way he had thought it out to be. Once everyone gets off the bus, they get hurried into the venue to get ready for the show. Brendon’s a little disappointed, since he desperately wanted to visit San Francisco. He doesn’t admit it to anyone though, and Dallon insists for Brendon to leave for their soundcheck. Brendon asks why, but he never gets a proper answer from any of the band members, Dallon hushing him and leading him away.

Brendon is a little confused, but he gives up quickly enough, going to hang out with Spencer as he waits. He is still as thrilled as the day before to see his favorite band live, even if it won’t be anything new. It still doesn’t hit him how this is _really_ happening to him, that it isn’t just all a dream. Despite everything, he still half expects to wake up back home, in his bed, this being all part of his imagination. He can’t be _this_ lucky. He’s just some guy, nothing like this could happen to him. Besides, why would Dallon want to have him on tour?

That is something that has been eating away at him ever since he got the offer to join them on tour. He has been thinking out every single possibility, and he still can’t understand why he got the offer. He never shared his personal life with Dallon, so it couldn’t be out of pity like Ryan did with Spencer. Whatever it was, Brendon is honestly just glad he got this chance. The only thing that sucked was that his best friends weren’t here with him, and in order to stay on tour with The Brobecks, he had no choice but to hide this from his family. He couldn’t tell his parents, meaning they were most likely looking for him at this very moment.

Time goes by a little faster than Brendon expected it to and it’s finally time for The Brobecks to play. The opening band was really great. They couldn’t play back in Vegas for some reason, so it’s Brendon’s first time to see them and he already loves them. They’re apparently called Unknown Legends, if Brendon heard it right. He doesn’t quite know what their genre is yet, though. It’s a bit of a mix between punk rock, pop and hardcore. Spencer tells him all about them, though. He explains how the lead singer is called William Beckett, how he apparently has a huge crush on Gabriel Saporta, their bassist, or at least that’s what Spencer claims. The guitarist’s name is Patrick Stump and the drummer Andy Hurley. Brendon has never heard of any of them before, but he’s glad he just discovered them.

The Brobecks’ show is, once again, fucking amazing. Brendon’s eyes never leave Dallon as he literally admires every single detail about him. This time, Brendon warns Spencer in advance that he doesn’t really want to make conversation during the show, since he just wants to focus on the performance.

Brendon has the chance of meeting Unknown Legends that night. They all go out at some bar in San Francisco, Brendon secretly being so happy to get to visit the city a little. Brendon doesn’t get carded since he’s with The Brobecks, and the guard immediately recognizes Dallon and gushes over them for a while, until Dallon gets a little annoyed and walks past him rudely.

They have a great time and Brendon realizes that Spencer was telling the truth when he told him that William had a major crush on Gabe: it was obvious. After a couple of drinks, William was all over him, a hand around his shoulders, giggling and blushing at everything he said or did. Gabe doesn’t seem to mind that much, though.

Brendon raises his eyebrows at Spencer knowingly and they laugh a little, rolling their eyes. While he observes everyone, he realizes that some people don’t seem to like each other very much. For example, William didn’t seem to like Pete, The Brobecks’ manager, very much and vice versa.

The more the night goes, the more William seems to be closer to Gabe, and the more Brendon begins to feel sick due to drinking too much. He tells Spencer he’ll be right back, then walks out of the bar, relieved to inhale the fresh midnight air of San Francisco. It reminds him of the nights he spent in Las Vegas, because it smelled the same. Cities always seemed to smell similarly to Brendon.

He jumps when he feels a hand on his lower back, immediately jerking away and turning back to look behind him. “Oh…” he laughs nervously. “It’s you. Hey, hi.”

“Hey.” Dallon starts to walk next to him, hands in his pockets. “Spencer told me you didn’t feel good, I wanted to check up on you. Is everything all right?”

The way the question is asked makes Brendon genuinely think Dallon gives a shit about him. His tone, his facial expression, his everything tells him he’s seriously concerned about him.

“Yeah.”

They walk in silence, Dallon still looking at Brendon while Brendon just looks down at his shoes. Such a beautiful city, and all Brendon was looking at was his shitty Converses. Not even Dallon.

“You sure? D’you wanna go back to the bus? I can walk you there if you want, I’ve got a key and all, you just need to say the word.” Dallon is being so kind to him, yet Brendon keeps being a bit of an asshole.

“No, I just - I just need to walk for a bit. Do you wanna join me?” Brendon suggests, eyes finally shifting up to look at Dallon, making eye contact.

Dallon immediately agrees, and they walk in silence for a few minutes, Brendon looking around at the city. “I’ve always dreamed of coming here. As a kid, even,” Brendon admits, smiling to himself. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

“Really? You should have said so earlier. I would have taken you to visit the city instead of in that boring bar.”

Brendon’s cheeks brighten and he scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “I didn’t want to be a bother. Besides, you were all pretty busy,” he shakes his shoulders.

“We don’t have much time, then. C’mon! I’ll show you around, I’ve been here a few times.” Dallon tugs onto Brendon’s wrist as he starts walking a little faster, a wide grin on his face. Brendon just follows along, without any doubts or questions, since he trusts Dallon fully. Maybe he’s a little too naive, but maybe he’s right to trust him.

Dallon takes Brendon to see the Golden Gate Bridge first, which he is very grateful for. There’s not as much to see as there is during the day, but it’s still really pretty. Then, he takes Brendon on a small tour around the city, showing him places he has been and things he has seen, and Brendon wishes he could listen to him, but Dallon was so handsome when he explained things that it was a little hard to stop focusing on his face and more on his voice. He feels bad for looking at Dallon that way, because Dallon has a wife and even if he didn’t, Brendon knows he wouldn’t be interested in him. Brendon’s just some kid, he’s younger and he’s less interesting and important.

“This is the first gay bar I went to,” Dallon says, and that’s when Brendon raises an eyebrow, instantly focused on what Dallon is saying. “It’s a funny story for another time, really. It’s a great bar. This guy hit on me. He was hot. I wasn’t popular back then.” He doesn’t continue his story, but Brendon’s dying to learn the rest of the story. He tells himself he’ll ask for the whole story later, because he wonders what happened with that hot guy. “Wanna go see?”

Brendon blinks at the offer, nodding twice. “Um…y-yeah, why not?” Getting into a gay bar underage was one thing, but with Dallon fucking Weekes? Holy shit. Everything that had happened to him since yesterday felt like it was pulled out of a young adult novel, really, and this was just the beginning. He doesn’t know how he’ll make Ryan believe all of this once he gets back home. He’s clueless though, and he doesn’t really understand why Dallon wants to bring him into a gay bar, but he follows along inside, Dallon once again being recognized and addressed as ‘Mr. Weekes’ and ‘sir’. No one pays a single look at Brendon though and he’s thankful for that. They get in without any complications, to Brendon’s surprise, Dallon leading him to the bar once they were in the club. He would have expected this to be a thrilling, exciting adventure, but it really isn’t. He doesn’t feel comfortable, he doesn’t feel like he belongs there at all. He’s young, and most of the people in the club are older and looking for sex.

He’s so grateful when they get out of there though, and he immediately asks to go back to the bus. He feels sick. Not because his whole day was pretty shitty, but because he drank too much. He feels dizzy and strange and numb and he doesn’t think he has ever drank as much as he’s drank tonight. As soon as they arrive at the bus, Brendon doesn’t even bother saying goodnight to Dallon and sleepily sauntered to his bunk, not even bothering to change out of his clothes before he passed out on his bed, which was rather ironic, considering the fact that he hadn’t been able to sleep at all the day before.


End file.
